


A Wee Pinch

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cruel teasing, John is a Saint, M/M, Sherlock Is Not Okay, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Sherlock is cruelly teased, and John is NOT having a bit o'it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts).



> People are not always kind to Sherlock. Fortunately, he has Saint John on Saint Patrick's Day to drive out the "snakes".

"Maybe after today, the freak will stop coming around the nick and keep his damned arse out of our business."

 

The shrill squawking of Sally Donovan grated on John Watson's last nerve as he walked into NSY. Add to that, she was degrading the man he loved, and BAMF Captain Watson was unleashed.

 

Philip Anderson's normally pasty pallor turned a sickly grey, causing Sally to whirl around. The jut of her chin did nothing to mask the nervous tension reflected in her eyes. "Doctor Watson."

 

"Donovan, Anderson", he nodded stiffly, "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Just the two sacks of crap I need to end my crapfest of a day."

 

Anderson took one step forward, followed by several in reverse as John simply deflated the man's "courage" with one withering glare.

 

"Since you seem to find my boyfriend a source of slanderous gossip, perhaps you could use that ignorant mouth of yours to tell me where I might find him, Donovan."

 

Once more, Anderson attempted bravado. "What makes you think we know or care where your little rent boy is, Watson?"

 

John's lips formed a thin, cold smile. "Don't recall asking you, toad. I was talking to your scrub woman. As she's normally slithering around everyone's ankles, who would better know?"

 

The raised voices had finally succeeded in attracting the attention of Inspector Greg Lestrade. "What the bloody hell is going on out here? Sounds like someone's castrating a herd of cats!"

 

"Greg, I'm looking for Sherlock. Any clue mate?"

 

Lestrade cleared his throat loudly, and John noted with some alarm that both Donovan and Anderson were openly smirking.

 

"Ah John, Sherlock is in my office waiting for you."

 

"Your office? You haven't allowed him alone in your office since the incident with the pickled pancreas. What's going on?"

 

Lestrade took John's elbow leading him to a corner of the room. "John, listen mate, you have to understand it was just a bit of teasing that MAY have gotten a touch out of hand. No one really meant Sherlock any harm, but you know how he is."

 

"What I KNOW, Inspector, is if I'm not with Sherlock in less than one minute, I'm going to start breaking things. Beginning with furniture and ending with people's arms and legs."

 

"Christ sake John, calm down! Go in the office and get him."

 

"Anyone coming near us is risking their life, understood?!"

 

The assembled coppers only nodded in response.

 

***~~~***

 

Something told John storming in the door was not a sound course of action, so he actually knocked. "Sherlock, it's John, I'm coming in. No one is with me, just us."

 

When he got no response, the Doctor went through closing the door softly behind him. Sherlock was sitting by a partially open window, his hair moving in the warm early spring breeze. He looked unharmed, but utterly wrecked.

 

The older man placed a gentle hand on a sharp cheekbone and a kiss on a furrowed brow. "Tell me luv."

 

There was a pain in the eyes of the younger man that tore at John's heart. "It would appear, John, that I have been designated the butt of some private joke to which I am not privy."

 

The blogger stroked the bedraggled curls through his fingers. "How do you mean, Sherlock?"

 

"I don't know John. It can't be explained by any empirical data. The fact, however, is that everyone in this building has been pinching me at every opportunity, while babbling some nonsense about the color of my clothes. I fail to see why my choice of wardrobe has made me a target of harassment today as opposed to any other day."

 

John tugged sharply at the bottom of his green jumper and sighed heavily as the hurtful realization dawned. "Oh, pet, I never thought this morning to caution you to wear something green today. Shit! I'm so sorry luv."

 

"I'm still not following John, explain."

 

"Well you know, nevermind, of course you don't. Today is the start of the three day St.Patrick's Day celebrations. Big do's in Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus. Stay with me pet, no going into your mind palace. At any rate, there's a childish and stupid prank people use as an excuse to abuse someone. Tradition says if you don't wear green on St.Patrick's Day, you get pinched. It's meant to be a joke, a bad one in my opinion."

 

"It wasn't amusing to me John. It just hurt, and no matter where I went or what I did, it kept happening. I didn't know what was going on, and you know how much I hate not knowing."

 

John pulled Sherlock to his feet and wrapped him in a crushing hug. "Listen to me Sherlock Holmes, this ends right now. Plus which, you and I are going to have the last laugh here today. I need to send a quick text, and then we're going to drive the snakes out of New Scotland Yard. Again, nevermind, I'll explain later. There, text sent. Come on gorgeous, into battle."

 

***~~~***

 

As the two men came out of Lestrade's office, John noted the mood had darkened considerably. Nervous glances and shuffling feet greeted their return.

 

"It would seem Captain, you have put the fear of St.John into everyone."

 

"Indeed, that was certainly my intention. Good for me, then. Gather round please, don't be shy, come closer please. Promise Greg, no violence and, as you are well aware, I'm not licensed to carry a firearm." The doctor's smile was feral.

 

Reluctantly, a group formed around the Detective and his Blogger. "It's come to my attention that Mr.Holmes has been the victim of police brutality today."

 

Lestrade choked out, "John mate, it wasn't like that. You know I would never allow..."

 

"But you didn't stop it Greg, even though you knew Sherlock had no earthly idea what was happening or why. I expect more from you. It isn't a prank when it becomes cruel. As for the rest of you, Sherlock and I are going to let you in on something that was our secret. Wasn't meant to be shared, but it seems needs must."

 

Something in Watson's voice made everyone instantly alert. "Go on then, Sherlock, drop those bespoke trousers and show the group that you ARE wearing something green."

 

Sherlock's eyes widened, but a corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement as he began unbuckling his belt.

 

Lestrade pushed forward nearly shouting, "No, no, just no. Not in my division. NOT IN MY DIVISION!"

 

John appeared disappointed, "But Inspector, how is Sherlock to prove..."

 

"Sherlock doesn't need to prove anything to anybody. We have all behaved badly, and on behalf of my entire division, Sherlock, I sincerely apologize. Now can we please get on with the rest of our day before my head explodes?!"

 

"Apology accepted, Geraldo, but I AM perfectly willing to show you my..."

 

"No Sherlock, just go back to Baker Street. I'll call if there's a case. Acceptable John?"

 

"I suppose Greg, but I have to say, I want no more incidents of this kind. By the way, I took the opportunity to text Mycroft about the days' events. I believe he might have more than a pinch waiting for you when you get home tonight. Enjoy."

 

The expression on the Inspectors face was priceless. "You know you are my hero John."

 

"Ta pet, let's get out of this madhouse."

 

***~~~***

 

Tea brewed, corned beef sandwiches and vinegar chips on the table, both men finally relaxed. "Better now luv?"

 

"Yes, but I feel exceedingly foolish for not deducing the source of my trouble. I have finally become comfortable with sentiment, and now am I expected to accept ridiculous pranks?"

 

"That wasn't a prank, that was a bunch of pricks being cruel, and that is never happening to my beautiful man ever again. I promise, even if I have to teach you every asinine tradition known to humankind."

 

"I believe you will, Captain. By the way, you knew full well Gopher wouldn't let me disrobe in his "division"."

 

"Point taken, but had he done, I also knew you ARE taking part in the wearin' o' the green."

 

Sherlock's entire body blushed bright red. "I'm not even wearing pants."

 

The shorter man patted the plush arse in front of him, "Well aware you adorable git. However, being around you has sharpened MY deductive skills. One hour longer than usual in the loo last night, followed by you laundering your own towels, London might fall, and an empty container of green food coloring pushed to the bottom of the kitchen bin. Conclusion, you have dyed "some" of your hair green, just for lucky me. Correct?"

 

"To a point. I, ah, may have underestimated my ability to remove said dye from areas not intended to be affected."

 

"Meaning boyo?"

 

"Boyo John? Honestly. Meaning, besides my intended target, there is another green area."

 

John actually snorted, "So, you're telling me you have a bright green "shillelagh" under those trousers?"

 

"After that remark, YOU will never know John Watson."

 

"Oh I think I can change your mind sweetheart. After all, who else is going to kiss the nasty pinches you got today, and admire your cosmetology skills, and polish your shillelagh? Besides, we've yet to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

 

Sherlock draped himself over John's lap and snogged them both breathless. "Well Doctor, I do need my injuries tended to, and it would be a shame to have my hairdressing efforts go unappreciated. As for polishing my shillelagh, that might be arranged for a price."

 

"A dear price is it?"

 

"The dearest, Captain. You," Sherlock playfully poked John's stomach, "and YOUR pot of gold naked in our bed. NOW!"

 

John grabbed Sherlock's hands and stood up, the taller man scrambling to stay upright. As they raced to the bedroom, John giggled and waxed poetic.

 

"Sure as my Sherlock's a beautiful green, with eyes of verdigris blue, Sure 'n the luck of the Irish is mine, lovin' the likes of you."

 

Sherlock began to strip and in a low pitched Irish brogue growled, "Come show me your "pot of gold" Leprechan John, and I'll let you play in my "green fields".

 

Erin go bragh!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope no one pinches you on St.Patrick's Day, unless you WANT them to! ;D


End file.
